


Past Our Dancing Days

by DavidTennantsTrainers



Category: Blackpool, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms
Genre: Background Relationships, Backstory, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-27
Updated: 2015-04-27
Packaged: 2018-03-25 23:33:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3829006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DavidTennantsTrainers/pseuds/DavidTennantsTrainers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A prequel of sorts, a last bit of character background for my Peter Carlisle in An Officer and the Noble Woman.  I was asked to explain what had happened to Natalie, since at the end of Blackpool it looked as though they'd both found their Happily Ever After.  I want Peter to be happy, but that relationship would never have lasted, as much as I liked Natalie.  This is why. You can read this story on its own, but it'll make more sense if you know my Peter Carlisle.  After this, back to An Officer and The Noble Woman and a major turning point.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Past Our Dancing Days

_It's the little things_ , he mused, _it’s always the little things that give you away in the end_.  He stood in the doorway, empty box in hand, and surveyed the echoing flat one last time.  If he twisted his head slightly, he could see the spot where she’d kissed him the first night he’d brought her to his home.  In his mind’s eye, his eyes slowly retraced the path they’d taken from the front door to the spot where his bed had once stood, giggling and groping, delighted that they’d finally found each other and convinced that this time, it would be forever.  He blinked, flinching when he realized he stood on the spot where she’d casually asked if he thought his mother hoped for a granddaughter or a grandson first, and his heart mourned those never-to-be children. He let his mind wander, recollection flaring brightly one last time as his gaze wandered around the room but he stubbornly refused to turn and look at that spot, that precise spot where he'd known for certain that his last chance for happiness was lost.

  
He’d been standing right over there, in front of the fireplace, the time he’d realized his mistake.  He’d ignored the little voice inside his head, the one that screamed, "Tell her, ASK her, just TALK TO HER!” over and over and over again.  But every time he had summoned the courage, the words had died in his throat.  He’d ignored his instincts, then and a thousand times after, long after he’d known the truth but refused to admit it, especially to himself. They’d been so good, so very happy together, for awhile, but then good things never seemed to last for a man like Peter Carlisle.

  
His mother had once told him the best thing for being sad was to learn something, and learn he had.  Peter had made a name for himself in Kendal, for his quick wit and grim tenacity, but he'd taken it too far. He'd thrown himself into his work after the failure of his marriage, learned to hide his feelings behind a mask of indifference and cynicism, to put his pain and disappointment to practical use.  He'd become more than a bit of a prat in his self-righteous zeal and arrogant need to be right about something - anything - in his life. He watched as routine daily circumstances ripped to shreds his illusions as to the noble nature of man, confirming all he long-suspected but couldn't quite acknowledge, proving time and again that expectation is the root of all heartache.  He had answered his personal higher calling and dedicated himself body and soul to Misanthropy, but then, without purpose or preamble, without designation or design, she was there, and Peter found himself brimming over with optimism and hope once more.

  
In the beginning, they had been so perfect, so right.  They spent their nights together in long, moonlight walks, just holding hands, or sharing a fish supper from the takeaway on the corner while havering on and on about anything and everything that struck their fancy.   When the mood was upon them, they’d go out on the town, such as it was, dancing with wild abandon as if they hadn’t a care in the world, even as all of creation was about to end.  They were mad things, silly and carefree, bound together by shared emotion so deep and true, with eyes only for each other.  So what if they were daft and giddy and perhaps just a wee bit obnoxious in public? All mankind loves a lover, after all, and Peter had definitely been a man in love.

  
Their relationship was everything he’d ever wanted and had convinced himself he’d never find again.  With her in his arms, little by little, the cloak of cynicism he'd wound about himself after his failed marriage began to loosen and fall from his shoulders, revealing the deeply romantic soul beneath. For the first time in as long as he could remember, Peter had felt free, secure in the knowledge that he loved and was loved in return.  He no longer haunted his office late into the night to avoid the echoing silence of his flat, the damning evidence of his many failings as both husband and human being.  He had a reason to go home, someone to come home to, to listen and listen to, to share his days and his nights.

  
He closed his eyes in a vain attempt to halt the unbidden memories that sprang up before him: clothes cast off in a whirlwind of passion, scattered to the four corners of Peter's modest flat as hot, frantic bodies writhed their way around his rooms.  When he had finally pressed her to the bed beneath him there were no words then, as sighs became moans, moans gave way to groans and groans died in strangled cries of passion.  Lost in her embrace night after night, Peter had been so sure that this time, with this woman, he’d finally gotten it right.  He'd known beyond a shadow of a doubt that Natalie was The One.  He should have known better.

  
_I'm a detective, damn it_ , he chastised himself, shoving books from the one remaining shelf in the living room into his box. _I should have seen it earlier._   He knew he’d never forgive himself for this.  He should have realized before, known for certain, and hidden it away, deep in his heart.  If he’d just paid more attention to the details, puzzled it out before, he could have saved it this time.  The fault was not in the stars, but in himself, he thought ruefully, but all the same, he knew was lying to himself again.  It wasn’t inattention or impatience that cost him his happiness this time and the paradox made the loss that much crueler.  This time, it was a heartfelt expression of gratitude and his own insatiable curiosity that shook him to the core and set his world to crumbling around him.

  
**********

  
"I know it was ye, so dinnae bother with protestin’," Peter had said warmly as he’d sidled up behind Danny at the bar and grasped his shoulder.

  
“Wha-?" The young man had spluttered, sloshing his drink over his hand as he'd hastily swung about.  “Detective Inspector?!?

  
“Detective Inspector?” Peter had repeated with a frown. “I thought we’d moved beyond that.”

  
“Sorry, De-,” Danny’d stammered, his eyes darting nervously about, finally settling on a pile of serviettes down the bar.  He'd lunged for them before sitting back and wiping his hand, mopping up the spillage before setting his glass back down.  “Peter,” he’d finally said, looking back up with a curiously brittle smile.  “Sorry, you startled me.  What was that again?”

  
"I know it was ye’ who settled the bill,” Peter had replied as he’d studied Danny’s reactions reflexively.  “Ye didnae have to do that.  I may be naught but a humble policeman with a salary to match, but I was the one who extended the invitation this evenin’.  I know the new leisure center keeps you busy and I appreciate you takin' the time and comin’ up fer yer mum’s birthday. ”  At that moment, he’d looked over to where Natalie sat, smiling and laughing with a few mates from her work as someone thrust another brightly-wrapped package into her hand.  She had glanced up and caught him watching and when she smiled back, Peter would have sworn he’d never seen anything as beautiful as she was at that moment.  He'd broken into a silly, soppy grin, staring back, then, remembering his purpose, he blinked and reached for his wallet.

  
“No," Danny had demurred, waving him off with a nervous laugh. "No, Peter, I wanted to. You've been good for me mum. She's happy with you.”  He'd regarded Peter seriously before adding, “After everything else, she deserves that.”  He'd looked down, suddenly unable to meet Peter’s gaze, but not before the detective in him had seen something flicker behind the young man's eyes. He knew that look, try as he might to deny it.  He’d seen it once before, when he’d sat at a table in a Blackpool police station asking questions of a schoolboy about a murder.

  
He’d taken the next day off without a word of explanation to anyone and driven straight down to Blackpool.

  
It had been easy enough to track Hailey down to a small salon but much harder than he’d anticipated to persuade her to listen.

  
“You bein’ here is bad for business,” she'd complained as he strode behind her, acutely aware of all the eyes tracking their progress across the room.

  
“I’ll speak to the owner,” he'd offered by way of brusque apology as she closed the office door behind them.

  
“You already are,” Hailey retorted, folding her arms over her chest and plopping down behind a rickety desk to face him.  “Now what do you want?”

  
Peter had taken the seat opposite her and forced himself to still, to appear calm and composed.  “What I want is to talk and fer ye to listen,” he'd explained in quiet, measured tones.  He’d leaned forward and lain his hands before him on the desk as he’d continued.  “This is no an official visit.  There’ll be no arrests, no prosecutions, nothin’.  Not for ye.” He'd paused significantly, turning both hands palms up for emphasis. “Nor for any other we might happen to discuss in the course of this visit.  Ye donae have to say a word, no a single word, and when I’m done, I swear, I’ll walk out of here and ye’ll never see me again,” he'd promised.  He'd waited patiently, giving her time to process his proposal before asking, "Are we clear?”

  
Hailey had eyed him dubiously then shrugged, feigning disinterest as he began.  Her expression changed not one whit as he methodically laid bare before her what he suspected, but before he was done, he knew with bleak certainty that he was right.

  
The short drive back to Kendal had given him ample opportunity to ponder the situation.  In the time it had taken signed divorce papers to make their way back and forth across the Atlantic, Peter had gotten to know both of Natalie’s children to differing degrees.  Shyanne was cordial and distant, but that was to be expected as Daddy’s Little Girl had a new husband of her own.  Danny, on the other hand, had always favored his mother and during his infrequent visits, Peter had found himself warming to the boy.  He was a good kid, basically, a bit eager to please, soft-hearted and impulsive, perhaps, but a good kid all the same.  Peter was certain that Hooly’s death had been accidental and that Danny had simply been in the wrong place at the right time, for Hailey's sake, at least.  Furthermore, it was a good bet that if Danny hadn’t been there to defend the girl, he still would have been called over to Blackpool the following day to investigate a murder, albeit one with a different victim.

  
_No that any of it matters in the end, no really,_ he'd reflected. It was all academic, at best.  He’d not lied to Hailey.  He had no intention of pursuing the matter further.  What would be the point of reopening the case?  Danny had been a minor at the time of the murder and there was no physical evidence to link him to the crime.  Hooley was still a dead scally with a grieving fiancée and there was nothing anyone could do that would ever change that, but Peter finally knew what had happened that night in the White Cliff Apartments, and that was enough for him.  The matter was settled, ancient history, water under the bridge and that evening when Natalie got home from work, he was waiting at the door.  He barely gave her time to drop her bag before he laid her back across the sofa.

  
In the days that followed, he had tried to tell her what he knew a thousand times in a thousand ways, to reassure her that nothing would change, that they were all still safe, but when Natalie looked at him with such innocent eyes, the words evaporated before they could ever reach his lips.  The longer he procrastinated, the more he could pretend that it didn’t matter, but by the time Natalie noticed Danny’s infrequent visits to Kendal had ceased entirely, Peter knew he’d missed his chance.  Danny's stammered excuses over the phone had grown increasingly transparent and there was nothing Peter could do or say to keep Natalie from going down to find out why.  She returned to Kendal the following day with the same sweet smile for him but Peter couldn’t fail to notice that it no longer reached her eyes.

  
Before her trip, they could talk about anything and everything for hours on end, and after she came back, they still could, as long as it was nothing of any consequence.  There was a mechanical quality to their interactions now that hadn’t been there previously.  Whenever Peter asked a question, Natalie paused just a moment too long before answering.  When he tried to make her laugh, her smile was just a touch too bright.  When they made love, there was a distance between them he could never seem to cross and for once, Peter denied his insatiable curiosity. He pretended that he didn’t want to know the reason for these changes until it became painfully apparent that growing old together was just one more thing they'd never do.

  
The day she left him came sooner than he'd expected.  After so many years of wedded misery, Natalie was practiced in the art of deception and by the time he found the packed bag in the wardrobe, he knew their relationship was a casualty of a trap of his own making.  He’d sown the seeds of distrust in her heart long ago, shutting the door of a Blackpool hotel with a calculated cruelty designed to leave a scar on her soul.  Those seeds had lain dormant in her memory, waiting for the proper conditions to burst forth in flowers grown on fear and dark thoughts.  The irony of the situation was not lost upon him. Now it was her turn to stand on the threshold, though the lies she offered him were kinder.  Even as she declared her new-found need for independence and thanked him for the strength he’d given her to seek it out, custom-made deceptions designed to inveigle and obfuscate, he recognized her ploy.  In his silence, he'd forced her to choose between her child and the fictional part he’d played once, of the Detective Inspector who’d slept with her just to get to the only real family she had left.

  
He’d left it too late to tell her the truth, to protest that his feelings were for real.  He knew she had loved him once and that she loved him still, but it hadn’t been enough to stand up to a mother’s instinct to protect her child.  When he’d slammed the door behind her in that hotel on the Promenade, she’d had a preview of what Peter Carlisle was capable of and Natalie had decided she could never trust in his present love to safeguard Danny’s future.  Instead, she’d chosen to act as decoy, drawing Peter's anger and hurt down upon herself to confuse the situation and plausibly cast doubt on his motives if he should ever decide to reopen the case.  After living with a policeman, one thing Natalie knew for certain was that there was no limitation period on murder.

  
**********

  
He should have left this place when she did, left and never looked back.   He should have moved on then, started anew and thrown himself back into life. Instead, he'd stayed on as a form of self-abasement, insulated from reality, drowning in regret and wallowing in misery.  He’d never bothered to make friends of his own before Natalie and of his fellow officers who’d risked the attempt, his cynicism had driven away half and his unwillingness to suffer fools had alienated the rest.  He paid the price for his disdain in the the form of persistent gossip that followed him home.  How had he ever believed that he could ignore the various rumors when the road back to Blackpool was little more than 86 kilometers and a little less than an hour long?  By the time his superiors' subtle hints that perhaps Kendal was no longer a good fit for him became pronounced, he couldn’t pretend any more.

  
_It’s for the best, really_ , he decided as he dropped that final box to the floor, heedless of the downstairs neighbor, and fished in his pocket for the keys he’d soon surrender.  He couldn’t open his eyes without seeing Natalie's ghost everywhere he went and it was time to exorcise that particular phantom from his memory.  He didn’t have the heart to tell his mother he’d failed yet again.  He didn’t think he could stand to see her try to hide her carefully-controlled worry and disappointment as she did her utmost to assure him he wouldn't always be alone. He looked down at the pair of keys in his hand and didn’t bother to hold back the hot tears that sprang to his eyes.  His face crumpled for a moment as he struggled to regain his composure and he ended up staring at the ceiling for a long moment as if transfixed. _It’s goin' be alright, once the pain has gone away_ , his mother always said, but what would become of him if it never faded?  He'd angrily scrubbed the tears from his face and snatched up the box from the floor. This pretty little fantasy was over and Peter Carlisle was determined to be a damned saint and an honorable villain and go forward, leaving his heart behind one last time.


End file.
